


Forget all the faces you've missed (remember the hearts that you've risked)

by titaniaeli



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, F/M, Gen, Goddess Daenerys, Jon Snow is King in the North, Oneshot, Rickon Lives, Sacrifice, because I say so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 08:49:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20636411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titaniaeli/pseuds/titaniaeli
Summary: The Dead was winning, and Jon was desperate. Left with no choice, he needed to seek other means to win the war. The Night King was not human, and maybe you need something not human to stand a chance.





	Forget all the faces you've missed (remember the hearts that you've risked)

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on Hades & Persephone, if you squint. But is Dany Hades or Persephone? Is Jon Hades or Persephone? Who knows.

Jon climbed up the steps to the summoning dais unsteadily, his frame shaking from the cold under his heavy winter cloak. The ground was obsidian rock, frozen cold and shining oddly beneath his bare feet. There were strange runes engraved in a circle, and he was suddenly reminded sharply of an old tale that Old Nan used to tell the Stark children. 

The North were full of ghosts and old things; tricksters and demons who hide behind kindly masks. Do not step into strange circles, for they will spirit you away and you’d never again be seen. 

But Bran’s Sight has led him here, and all Jon could do was trust his brother. This was the spot where the sacred lines intersected, the place where all the Old magic of the North have gathered. 

“You can leave me here.” He said, turning slightly to address his two warriors. 

Tormund Giantsbane of the Free Folk, his most loyal friend. Ser Brienne of Tarth, his steadfast Commander of the Wintersguard. When he first brought up his decision to his Council, they had obviously put up a great fuss. He spent almost a fortnight arguing with his lords and family on his decision, and then they had wasted even more time squabbling about his escort. Finally, he chose two of his best fighters to accompany him on his trip. With the way their war was going, he wasn't going to steal the North's best fighters away for too long. 

Their journey had been perilous, but the winter storm was needed to shield them from the Night King's gaze. Although the distance from Winterfell was shorter than expected, without Bran's guidance, the three of them would have gotten lost. 

“Your Grace,” Brienne still looked unsure, unwilling to abandon her King. “I still think you should reconsider your decision. Surely we can find another way?”

“We can’t.” He said firmly. He has already made up his mind, and he’d not be swayed from his decision. “Ser Brienne, I'm grateful for your service, but I have taken too much of your time already. You're needed back at Sansa's side. I’ll be fine from here onward.”

He refused to look into Brienne's bright blue eyes. He highly respected the woman knight, but she has a way of making him feel guilty with those lovely eyes. 

"Very well, Your Grace." Brienne said, so soft her voice was almost lost in the howling storm. She bowed her head and retreated. She stayed far enough to give the two men's privacy, but near enough to defend her King if any wights wandered too near. 

Tormund stared up at him, his expression sombre. He spent the entire journey making lewd jokes about his decision, but became quieter as they ventured nearer to their destination. 

"You don't have to do this." Tormund said gravely, stomping up the steps towards him, but steering clear of the engraved runes. The Free Folk believed in superstitions even more fiercely than those living south of the Wall. "How many times are you going to sacrifice yourself until you're happy?"

He dragged Jon into a tight hug, almost lifting the latter off his feet. 

"I have to protect my family. I have to protect you." He replied. "We are losing the war. The North will be overrun sooner than later if we don't do anything about it."

"Then why must it be _you_?" Tormund scowled. 

"I'm the King," he smiled. "How can I ask someone else to sacrifice their life for the North?"

"You self-sacrificing fool.” Tormund said, hiding a quiet sniffle. “You better come back alive if you can, Little Crow.”

“I’ll try.” He smiled. “Take care of my siblings.”

They left him, and the snow swept their presences away, leaving him standing in the dark and cold, feeling abruptly alone. He wanted to call them back, his two warriors, but he steeled himself to his task. 

He slipped the Valyrian dagger from his cloak, a gift from Arya, and raised his arm. It was so cold his fingers could barely wrap around the hilt of the dagger, his arm trembling violently. When he finally cut a line down his forearm, the blood spilled easily onto the obsidian rock. It was a bigger struggle to strike a fire, but he finally managed a small flame fighting against the icy wind on the piece of weirwood. 

“I summon thee to the circle, bound by fire and blood, Daenerys of the Old Gods,” he said in shaky High Valyrian, praying desperately that he does not fucked up his pronunciation. “To answer my call and accept my offering.” 

He has never been a devoted worshiper, but he was desperate now. _Cowardice_, he thought. Humans should be left to battle their own wars. But this was not a human war, wasn’t it?

He has nothing to offer; nothing but himself. Although he has a worry that he’d more than likely offend the Goddess. He was a mere bastard; what use was he to a Goddess who has everything? 

Daenerys, Goddess of Fire, whose symbol was three dragons that she rode across the world, dispensing mercy and justice. A war maiden and conqueror, plucking the courageous from battlefields and carrying them to the afterlife. 

Their war against the dead had costed them too much. He has no choice but to beg for help from a Goddess now. 

At first, he thought that the ritual had failed, but one second the clearing was empty except for the blistering cold and wind, and the next second, an enormous dragon appeared above him, coiling in the air with a deafening roar. 

The world trembled. The earth wailed. The snowstorm bended and resisted for a moment, and then shattered under the dragon’s roar. 

Suddenly, he was sweating under his cloak from the heat. The cold was no longer the cause of his trembling. It was sheer terror now; unadulterated fear and panic thrumming under his skin. He was a lesser being, inferior and _mortal_. 

“Who calls for I, Daenerys?” A voice, soft like wildflowers and fierce like thunder, questioned in High Valyrian. The dragon rolled his massive head towards the dais, those smouldering crimson eyes staring at him. There was a silver rider standing atop his back, and for a second, Jon couldn’t breathe. “Who summons the Goddess of Fire?”

“It is I, Jon Snow, King in the North, who summoned you to implore you for help.” He swallowed his fear and called out. 

The silver rider gave him an amused smile. It simultaneously shamed and thrilled him. 

“Speak in the Common Tongue, King in the North.” She said. “I cannot bear to hear you butchering my language any further.”

He willed the earth to open up and grant him mercy, as his cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. 

She delicately stepped off her dragon’s back, looking like a Queen descending from her throne.

“We are at war with the Night King and we are losing. We have lost too many brave Knights in the battles against the wights. We have no more food, and our people is dying.” He pleaded. “I beg for your help to save the North and my people.”

“And what do you offer in return?” She asked. 

This was it. The moment that could get him killed. The moment that could save them or doom them all. “We have no gold, no riches, no gems to offer. Our lands have grown infertile from winter. I have nothing to offer you...” His hands shook as he reached up to unlace his cloak. “Nothing to offer but myself.”

He let the cloak fell to his feet. Under his cloak, he was naked, scarred and damaged. A paltry offering. 

The Goddess stared at him with slightly wide eyes. If he wasn’t feeling so terrified at the moment, he’d have laugh upon seeing the look of surprise on her face. He had actually taken her off guard. 

She did not speak immediately, staring at him with blank eyes. He couldn’t help the raise of anxiety as the seconds ticked away. He felt nauseated and faint, feeling as if he might collapse any moment. 

He needed her help against the Night King. He would do anything to protect his family. 

“I’m a bastard, yes, but I am also King in the North. I was former Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch and I have led thousands of the Free Folk past the Wall. I may not be as smart as my sister, Sansa, but I learn fast.” He said shakily, abandoning his bravado. It was useless trying to mask his emotions from a Goddess. “I offer you my servitude, my body, and everything of me, as long as you protect my family and the North.”

As she continued to remain silent, he felt old childhood insecurities swelling as he fought not to shiver violently. "Unless I am not of your liking?"

In a swift motion, Daenerys snatched up his cloak and wrapped them around his body. Her fingers brushed across his collar, and the touch sent a surge of warmth through his body. It was the sun in his blood, the heat burning up the chill in his tired bones and muscles. 

He gasped in surprise, his knees weakening under his weight. 

“I’ve heard enough, King in the North.” She said quietly, standing so close he could smell Spring on her breath. She was tall enough, or perhaps he was short enough, that they were standing eye-level. 

She pressed a thumb against his throat, and he shuddered at the heat flooding his veins. 

“I’ll give my dragons and my soldiers to your war.” She whispered, raising a silver brow, as if daring him to look away or change his mind. “But you belong to me in perpetuity. Is that a fair exchange?”

He had expected this; an eternity spent in servitude to the Goddess was the best arrangement he could bargain in exchange for help. He had made up his mind, and nothing was going to shake his resolve. Still, he was touched by her kindness. He did not think that an Old Goddess, an otherworldly being of both salvation and destruction, would give him a _choice_. 

"I swear myself to you." He repeated. "Everything of me." 

He did not expect her smile, brilliant and warm. The hint of slyness and mischief in her eyes as she gazed at him, that rose-pink lips lifting to flash a hint of an unnatural fang at him. 

"Then show me to your kingdom, Jon Snow," she said. She paused, her eyes flickering over his face in appreciation. "And do not fear; you have definitely pleased me with your offering." 

The heat that flushed his neck and ears were most certainly not of her magic. 

* * *

Jon did not participate in the Battle of the Dawn. Nor did any of the Northmen or Free Folk.

Daenerys swept into the battlefield with her divine army of Unsullied, ancient spirits of men who have lost their lives to slavery, and Dothraki, ghostly horse lords who thirsted for blood and war. She rode her largest dragon against the Night King, scorched his icy heart with a dragonglass sword like a legendary warrior goddess. 

Her remaining two dragons set the battlefield aflame with their fire, burning out the roots of taint from the ground. As they swept past, they left green growing in their wake. 

As the last of the Others shattered, the wights falling after them, Jon's resolve solidified. He knew he had made the right choice. 

He would serve the Goddess of Fire forever, but his family was safe, the North was safe, and he was sure that his siblings would be able to rebuild their kingdom. Even without him. 

He has no regrets. 

Except he couldn't spend a little more time to bide farewell to his family. He only had enough time to appoint little Rickon as King and Sansa as Regent, hugged his sisters and brothers goodbye and tried not to cry as Arya, tough and dangerous Arya who had already lost so much, sniffed nosily against his chest. 

“I’ll come for you, Jon,” Arya said fiercely. “I’ll save you.”

“No,” he said quietly. “Don’t come after me. I’ve offered myself as sacrifice, and I’ll not break my word.” At the look of stubbornness on her face, he chuckled. “I’ll be alright, Arya. Promise me that you’ll look after our siblings.”

He managed to extract a semblance of a promise from her, but he did notice that she didn’t exactly agreed not to come after him. A note of worry wound tight in his belly; he knew how impulsive she could be at times. But he didn’t have time to worry too much over Arya as Daenerys arrived to whisk him away.

The Goddess had been generous enough to permit him to meet his family one last time, but he could tell that she was impatient to leave and he didn't want to push his luck by making her wait any longer for a mere human.

He has no regrets, but it still broke his heart to leave his siblings. 

She flew him away on her largest dragon. His second time did not make the ride any easier. He struggled not to throw up, although there was nothing in his stomach. The sharp, throbbing pain and gnawing emptiness reminded him that he hasn't eaten a full meal for a long time.

The war had been hard on everyone. 

If he had not begged for Daenerys's help, he might have collapsed from hunger eventually.

Still, the hunger pangs and exhaustion were difficult to tolerate on a good day. His endurance was shot to hell, and flying on a dragon's back was not easy on his starving body. 

Fortunately, being near the Goddess was no hardship. It was like sitting next to a furnace. If the fear of falling off the dragon wasn't so strong, he might have dozed off gently against her side. 

The journey was fortunately not long, and when the dragon broke through the dark clouds, sunlight sliced through and shone upon his face.

He let out a loud gasp of shock, closing his eyes instinctively against the sudden brightness. Warmth washed over his skin instantly, kissing the chill away. He could finally see his surroundings; down below the dragon was a beautiful island with towering green trees and mountains. Flowers bloomed in the air as the dragon descended. 

He could hear a soft giggle beside him, and he turned in surprise. He had forgotten about her presence next to him, although he couldn't imagine forgetting someone as _unforgettable _as Daenerys. She looked amused, that cold marble visage bright with amusement at his reaction. 

It was a different smile than the one she had given him earlier. This one was soft and understanding, inhuman in its humanness. 

“Come,” she commanded as the dragon landed. “We’ll have you fed and cleaned.”

He stared at her dainty hand, long-fingered with manicured nails. When he tentatively accepted her hand, he could feel callouses on her palm and fingertips. That observation surprised him; he did not expect a Goddess to have something as human as _callouses_.

He stumbled slightly as he climbed down the dragon’s back, grimacing when the beast rumbled in displeasure. He leaped at the last step, landing on soft, downy grass. He sucked in a shocked breath as he stared at the grass poking out between his bare toes.

Dazed, he took an unsteady step forward. The breeze was chilly against his cheeks, but it wasn’t the bitter-sharp, stinging cold of an endless winter. The sunlight was warm on his skin, and Springtime flowers sang in the air.

He dropped to his knees, overcame with the abrupt sensations around him. He dug his fingers into the soil, and nearly wept at the smell of wet earth and dew crumbled in his hands.

How long has it been since he had seen the sun? Felt the heat of the sun on his skin and the scent of Spring on his tongue?

It seemed like decades the North have been submerged in the bitter and cruel cold of the Night King. The North hasn’t seen the sun for more than a year since they arrived in swarms from the Land of the Always Winter. 

“Where is this place?” He asked hoarsely.

Daenerys kneeled down beside him, reaching out for one of his soil-stained hands. He almost jerked back in surprise at her touch, but her grip was strong.

“This is my home, Jon Snow,” she said. “And this is your home now too. You’ll never feel the harsh winter of the Night King again. No Others will walk this earth for as long as I exist, I swear this to you.”

“Why would you do that?” He stammered, eyes wide.

“Because the Others are an abomination created by magic but perverted by evil.” Daenerys answered. “They are a blight on this earth.”

“Then why didn’t the Gods do anything about them?” He demanded, suddenly furious. Fury twisted in his chest, sharp and wild.

“Because we are not supposed to interfere in the affairs of mortals.” Daenerys said sadly. “If the Gods fight against each other in a conflict of interests, we will destroy countries.”

“Then why did you?” He questioned, still simmering but tempered by the hand in his.

Suddenly, her eyes blazed, raw and biting, and she looked the Goddess of Fire she was so aptly named. She lifted his hand up to her mouth, pressing her lips on his knuckles.

“Because you invoked my name and offered yourself up to me.” She said. “A human life, freely offered, is the most potent offering that one could receive. You’re mine now, Jon Snow, and your life is tied to mine forever.”

It’s only when his chest grew too tight that he realized he had stopped breathing, and he had to quickly inhale to fill his lungs.

“I—I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.” He swallowed.

As if it was never there, the powerful, regal gaze vanished, and Daenerys smiled sweetly at him. She stood up, pulling him up with her.

“Then it’s good that you learn fast, isn’t it?” She quipped, cheeky. “First, you just have to know that you never have to fear the cold again. On this island, the sun will shine as long as I will it.”

The trees slowly opened up a path in front of them. He watched the sky as three dragons soared overhead, their roars singing across the island.

This island was apparently his new home now, and perhaps one day he’d come to love it as much as he had loved the North.


End file.
